Strange As It Seems
by Flower Powerer
Summary: Arnold Shortman was in love, and he was one hundred percent sure nothing would ever come of it.
1. Strange As It Seems

**AN: **The other day I heard that song from a few years back, "Just The Girl" by The Click Five, and it inspired me to tackle this concept. This is just an intro chapter - the next one will have more interaction, I swear.

**Strange As It Seems**

Arnold Shortman figured he must have the worst luck in the entire school. Yes, worse luck than Eugene, who had broken every bone in his body at least twice, worse luck than Rhonda, who was serenaded to by a lovesick Curly at least three times a week, and way worse luck than Brainy, who somehow managed to show up to class every day with a broken or bloody nose.

Arnold's bad luck happened to be bad luck in love. Not like Rhonda's Curly situation – Arnold's luck was more about who he happened to fall in love with, not who was in love with him. Arnold had been in love with girls who hadn't known he existed and girls who only liked him as a friend. He had been in love with teachers and girls who used him on sunny summer days. Obviously none of these had ever worked out, but Arnold felt like this love was worse than any other love he had ever had.

He tried to ignore the feelings that crept up on him, the way his stomach flip-flopped when he saw her walking down the hall, the way everything she said made him want to smile or laugh or hug her or just _touch_ her somehow. He tried to pretend those feelings didn't exist but he soon discovered you just can't will your way out of feelings.

He tried to deny what the feelings meant. Maybe that was just the way you felt around someone whose company you really enjoyed, who you just wanted to be good friends with, who you thought was really funny and smart and just coincidentally also happened to be very pretty? He didn't think his heart had every beat so fast when he looked at Lila or Ruth, not the way it beat when he looked at her – so these couldn't possibly be the same feelings, right? This was something else…except he knew that it wasn't.

He tried to reason his way out love. He tried to think of all the bad things about her. But all the bad things just seemed so endearing…

No matter what he did, at the end of the day, he always ended up in love with her. There was absolutely no way around it. Arnold was in love, and, as it always was with him, his love was doomed to be unrequited.

Arnold Shortman was in love, and he was one hundred percent sure nothing would ever come of it.

Because there was no way in hell Helga G. Pataki could ever be in love with Arnold Shortman

xXxXx

He couldn't pinpoint the moment it happened. He was completely unsure of the moment he had gone from tolerating Helga's torments to being completely gone on her. It must have been the sneaky kind of love, the gradual kind that slowly, slowly worms its way into your heart, until one day you realize that it's completely taken over.

He thought it might have started back in elementary school, that day in fourth grade when she had kissed him on the roof of the FTi building. She had admitted to it being in the heat of the moment, and the more Arnold thought about it, the more it seemed like she had just made the whole "in love with him" thing up. After all, nothing in her behavior since then had shown that she felt anything more for him than hatred – maybe a sort of tolerant friendship on her best days.

But in the four years since then, somehow Arnold had managed to find himself head-over-heels in love with her. It must have been all the time they had to spend together after their best friends started dating – as much as you can date in middle school. All those lunch times spent together, rolling their eyes together as the couple played kissy-face; all those group outings together so Phoebe and Gerald's parents wouldn't suspect them of going on an actual date. That's when he began to realize all the really clever things Helga had to say, how funny her jokes were, how poetically she could speak, how good her hair smelled…

Though she didn't seem to care much for him, he loved watching her interact with other people. She was a really great friend. She was so protective of Phoebe; sometimes it seemed like Helga liked going on their "group dates", probably only to keep an eye on Gerald and make sure he didn't do anything out of line. She really cared about Phoebe's happiness, enough to make sure Gerald didn't do anything to hurt her, but also enough to look the other way when they were walking home from the movies so that Gerald could sneak in a polite kiss or two.

Sometimes they would all study together, and he'd be really shocked to find out that Helga was often on the same level as Phoebe when it came to knowing their material for class – and often way ahead of her when it came to English assignments. Sometimes they would edit each other's creative writing assignments, and he would be amazed – not only at the lack of grammatical errors in her writing, but at the depth, the intelligence, the beauty.

He had it bad. Real bad. And the worst part was, he could never tell her about it. If she caught wind that he, the little Football Headed twerp, was in love with her, he would never hear the end of it.

So he made a promise to himself: Arnold Shortman would never, ever confess his feelings to Helga G. Pataki, even if it killed him.

Because if she had any idea, _she'd_ probably kill him…


	2. The Butterfly Effect

**AN: **Thanks for all the great feedback on the first chapter! I hope you guys like this chapter too. It still feels like more set up, but I'm getting there, I swear!

**Strange As It Seems:  
>The Butterfly Effect<strong>

The phrase "butterfly effect" may have different meanings in the world of chaos theory or Hollywood blockbusters, but Arnold used it to refer to the fluttering feeling that stirred in his stomach whenever he got too close to a certain former bully. It was cliché, that was true, but there were no other words to describe it – there were butterflies in his stomach, and they rose and took flight whenever he got within in five feet of Helga Pataki. And in situations like this, they flapped up a storm.

It was their usual Friday afternoon study group – Arnold, Gerald, Phoebe and Helga, together in Arnold's room, getting their homework out of the way so they could have the rest of the weekend worry-free. Helga was sprawled on the floor, textbooks and notebooks spread out in front of her, while Gerald and Phoebe leaned up against the wall, his arm around his shoulder. Arnold sat on his bed, anxiously flipping through the pages of his notebook, nervously twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

"Hey Arnold, what'd you get for this last problem?" Gerald asked, frowning down at the math assignment. "Pheebs got 32, but I got some number with a bunch of decimals…this _can't_ be right…"

Arnold jumped at the sound of Gerald's voice, throwing his pencil into the air. "Huh? What?"

"I _said_, what answer did you get for the last problem?" Gerald repeated, raising his eyebrows at Arnold.

"Oh, uh…" Arnold fumbled to get to the correct page in his notebook, throwing a nervous glance at Helga, hoping she wasn't taking note of his klutzy actions. Luckily, she seemed to be doodling in her notebook, no doubt having finished the assignment ages ago. "Um…I got 32."

"Damn it," Gerald sighed, "Fine…Phoebe, show me how you did it." His girlfriend smiled at him shyly, and started jotting down the solution in his notebook.

Arnold closed his notebook and leaned back against his pillows. He couldn't seem to find a position that would shut up the upheaval occurring in his stomach.

"What, wait, the answer's 32?" Helga said, suddenly, flipping through her homework, "Are you sure? Let me see your homework, Football Head." She scrambled up and kneeled at the end of the bed, reaching for the notebook on his lap.

"N-no!" Arnold stuttered, pulling the notebook away, a flabbergasted look on his face.

Helga froze mid-grab, eyeing him suspiciously, "Come on, Arnoldo, I just want to see how you did it."

"No…I mean, uh…" He cleared his throat, glancing over at Phoebe and Gerald who were staring at him just as bemusedly as Helga, "Copying is wrong."

Helga rolled her eyes. "It's not copying, you're just helping me learn! Now stop being a weirdo and give me your notebook." She leaned over further and snatched it out of Arnold's hands, despite his weak protest. Shaking her head, she began to look over it, as Arnold sighed and leaned his head against the wall, purposely trying to hit it a little hard. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.

"Oh, I see, I mixed up a negative sign somewhere," She made a few quick edits to her assignment, then tossed the notebook back on to Arnold's bed. "See, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Criminy, Arnoldo, sometimes I'm not sure that giant football head of yours is screwed on right." She made a face at him, but despite the scrunchiness, Arnold's stomach still took a leap. "Are we done here, Pheebs? I don't think I can take anymore of this, plus you promised me some strict-girl's-only-time this weekend, and I want to start it now."

"Coming!" Phoebe chimed, pleasantly. She packed up her stuff, stopping only to swoop down and kiss Gerald goodbye. As she did, Helga again rolled her eyes, throwing a sardonic smile at Arnold. Arnold smiled back weakly, and then tried to keep it together as Helga seemed to look him over from head to toe. She shook her head and then cleared her throat. Phoebe pulled apart from Gerald, giggled quietly to herself, and waved goodbye.

"See you later, babes, I'll call you tonight," Gerald said, smoothly, as Phoebe and Helga exited the room.

"Later, losers!" Helga shouted from the hallway before the door closed behind them.

Immediately, Arnold threw his head against his textbook. He had managed to repeat this act three times before Gerald grabbed the math book out from under him. He raised his head and threw Gerald a look that could only cry out "Help me!"

"Still got it bad, huh, Arnold?" Gerald said, sympathetically.

"It's gotten _worse_, Gerald! Now it's like I can't even be in the same room as her!" Arnold moaned.

"It wasn't _that_ bad…" Gerald said, trying to ease his best friends fears.

"Gerald, I launched myself away from her anytime she got close to me. I was a nervous wreck! I was a, um, a…well, she said it herself, a _weirdo_!" Arnold shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Nah, man, you weren't that bad…today." He added the last word as an afterthought, chuckling to himself as he remembered time Arnold had spilled his lunch all over himself or fell flat on his face in front of Helga.

"Haha," Arnold said, dryly, "Laugh at the poor lovesick sucker's expense. Go on."

"Man, I just don't _get_ it!" Gerald said, sitting down on the bed next to his best friend. "Helga Pataki? She spent the whole day joking around and making fun of us – mainly you – and you're still in love with her?"

Arnold sighed, "But it's like…all her jokes and ridiculing…they're part of like, something more. Like a secret code! Like when she rolls her eyes whenever you kiss Phoebe, it really means something like '_PDA makes me uncomfortable but I'm really glad my best friend has someone who cares about her so much because she really deserves it_."

Gerald shook his head. "You're decoding Helga Pataki? Cracking the Pataki Code?"

Arnold smiled at him, wryly. "Something like that."

"So what does it mean when she makes fun of you?" Gerald pressed, "What's the real meaning behind "Football Head", then?"

"I wish I knew," Arnold sighed, "Anything she says about me or to me – those are the hardest things to decipher. I don't know if I just get too…butterfly-y to focus enough to figure it out, or if she's just really good at hiding what she's actually saying to me."

"Kind of like…she's trying to cover something up from you?" Gerald suggested, tentatively.

"Yeah, maybe," Arnold said, absently.

"Like maybe…she likes you too?"

Arnold groaned and shook his head. "Come on, man, don't get my hopes up like that! You know that can't possibly be it! I was thinking more like she's onto me! That she knows I like her, so she's just extra careful when's he's talking to me so I don't get any kind of wrong idea!"

Gerald sighed and stood up from the bed, moving to pack his things up. "You are one troubled young man, Arnold. One trouble young man."

Arnold gave him a pathetic smile. "I miss the days when I was a bold kid."

Gerald finished packing and walked towards the door. He shook his head and turned around to face Arnold before he left. "A bold kid would tell her how he felt."

**xXxXx**

"Later, losers!" Helga shouted from the hallway before the door closed behind them.

She and Phoebe walked down the stairs without saying a word. Phoebe glanced at her best friend, but the look on her face was unreadable. It was until they were safely out of the building with the front door closed behind them that Helga let loose.

"I'm a mess, Pheebs, a totally mess!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

"I thought you held yourself together pretty well, actually," Phoebe noted, "If anything, it was Arnold that seemed a little off."

"He was acting weird because he's on to me! I must have done something to tip him off. Oh God, he probably saw what I was doodling in my notebook. I'm so STUPID, letting my guard down like that." Helga kicked at a rock on the ground in frustration, and started to lead the way towards her house.

"What were you doodling?" Phoebe asked, running to catch up to her.

"Little tiny footballs surrounded by stupid little hearts," Helga admitted, "Why am I so stupid? How could I do that in front of him? He must have seen and got creeped out and that's why he started acting all weird."

"Helga, you and Arnold were sitting a decent distance away from each other for the most part; if your doodles were so tiny, there's no way he would have known what they were." Phoebe pointed out.

Helga scoffed. "Yeah, right, he's probably got super perfect extra good vision to go along with everything else this is just so perfect about him!" She kicked another rock, this one ricocheting off a trashcan and causing a pleasant clamor that satisfied Helga's mood.

"I'm certain that's not it," Phoebe said, "But, um, Helga?"

"Yeah, Pheebs?"

"Would it…would it be _entirely_ bad if he had seen?" Phoebe asked, timidly.

Helga stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at Phoebe. For once, she felt as if she was the only sane one in this relationship. "Are you CRAZY, Phoebe? He can't know! Why would you even _suggest_ that?" She started walking again, stomping down the street, as if further enraged by Phoebe's question.

"Well, I mean," Phoebe stammered, again running to catch up to the other girl, "You guys are kind of like friends now, with all the hanging out you've been doing lately. It's not like he hates you…maybe now's the proper time to um, take things to the next level?"

"Absolutely not," Helga replied, "Look, he only hangs out with me because you and Gerald are dating. If you two weren't playing kissy-face all the time, me and Arnold…we wouldn't even talk, I'm sure of it." She paused for a second, then sighed, "So while I am eternally grateful you and Tall Hair Boy are going at it, Arnold has absolutely no interest in me as anything more than…a fellow chaperone."

"Oh Helga," Phoebe sighed, "That's not true..."

"Well, I'm going to need a little more evidence then a twitchy Arnold to believe you on that one," Helga replied sarcastically.

**xXxXx**

"This is pathetic," Gerald sighed on the phone later that night. "_They're_ pathetic."

"I wouldn't say they're _pathetic_, exactly," Phoebe replied, sitting at her desk and staring out the window. "Maybe just…unfortunate."

"Or confused," Gerald suggested.

"Or…misguided," Phoebe added.

"Or 'completely-whacked-in-the-head'!"

"I was going to go with 'star-crossed', but that works too," Phoebe giggled.

Gerald laughed too, always impressed with himself whenever he could make his girlfriend laugh. "We've got to do something though…they're both head over heels for each other, but neither of them is going to do anything about it!"

Phoebe sighed, "I know…I thought maybe they could work it out on their own, but things are getting a little out of hand. I thought I was making progress trying to convince Helga to confess…" She paused, "Well, re-confess…but she's adamantly opposed to the idea. I think things not going so well the first time persuaded her not to put herself out there again…"

"Well, fortunately, I think _I_ have made some strides in that department," Gerald said, boastfully.

"Oh, really, Gerald?" Phoebe squealed, excitedly.

"Yep! Let's just say I think my man Arnold is going to make a one bold move pretty soon. One _bold_ move…"


	3. Conquering the Butterflies

**AN: **Trying to get as much of this out over winter break as I can because I know once classes start again I'll be terrible at updating. Don't worry! I still got almost 4 weeks left in me! PS – writing middle school Rhonda is the most fun I've ever had. It makes me want to write a story about Rhonda and Helga ruling the school together as bitchy alpha females~ **EDIT:** Woaaah I just realized the formatting made it so you didn't even get to see Arnold asking her out. FIX THAT.

**Strange As It Seems:  
>Conquering the Butterflies<strong>

The cafeteria at lunchtime was the social center of James Buchanan Middle School. It was here that the students of Buchanan gathered at half past noon, Monday through Friday excepting federal holidays and school breaks, to eat lunch, build friendships, and most importantly, gossip. It was also, if you asked resident Queen Bee Rhonda Lloyd, the number one time and place for starting middle school relationships (closely followed by after school at the lockers).

With this in mind, Arnold placed his lunch tray down next to his best friend Gerald, a little strongly, as his nerves would have it. Across the table, Phoebe and Helga jumped a little as he shook the table; Helga followed up with a glare. "Jeez, Football Head, cool your jets, bucko."

"S-sorry, Helga," Arnold replied, pulling out his chair and taking a seat. Gerald threw him a look of concern, which Arnold returned with a look that seemed to say both _"Sorry!_" and "_Help me!_"

They all dug into their lunches, and had probably only been silently eating for a minute, when Arnold, who felt like it had been an eternity, cleared his throat and spoke. "So, um…Gerald, you've, uh, got that big basketball game coming up on Friday, huh?"

Gerald nodded, taking a bite out of his apple, "Yeah, big game against Franklin. Coach says that the high school coaches will be there. If I play great, I might be starting on JV next year." He threw his shoulders back proudly, lifting his chin a little higher.

"Oh, wow, that's awesome. And, uh, Phoebe," Arnold continued, choosing his words carefully, "You'll pro-"

"Excuse me!" Rhonda interrupted, slamming a flyer down on the table in front of them. "Just handing out flyers for the Sweethearts Dance! It's coming up fast, and I promise you, you will _not_ want to miss it." She smiled at each of them individually. "Is it safe to assume everyone's favorite two couples will be attending?"

Helga choked on the sandwich she was eating, and quickly grabbed for some milk to wash it down. Arnold turned beet red. "We're not…we're…we, um…"

"I think," Phoebe jumped in, saving her friends from further embarrassment, "what Helga and Arnold are trying to say is that they're not—"

"Oh, of course not! I'm sorry!" Rhonda said, the smile on her face showing anything but regret, "I just get so confused, what with you four hanging out together all the time. My bad! Hope to see you at the dance!"

And with that she was gone, just as quickly as she appeared. Arnold grabbed his bottle of water and drank it quickly, glancing at Helga to see if she was better. She had stopped coughing, and was wiping the milk from her lips with her napkin. Her head was bent down, and when she looked up and caught Arnold's eye, the butterflies went wild. He mentally shushed them, "_Come on guys, I gotta do this and you're _not_ helping._"

He cleared his throat again, "So, um, yeah, Phoebe. You're probably going to be going to that game, right?"

Phoebe frowned and shook her head. "I'd love to, but it's across town, and I've actually got an emergency piano lesson scheduled for my recital on Sunday. By the time I'd be finished, the game would have already started. I wouldn't make it there in time."

"Oh, emergency piano lessons, yeah, right," Arnold said, nodding as if he had actually listened instead of concentrating very carefully on his plan. "So, I guess that means our homework session is canceled for Friday?"

Phoebe gave him a sad smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

He cleared his throat again. It was beginning to feel dry, and that wasn't a good sign. He was almost there! "But, um, we do have that big math test coming up on Monday," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible, "Maybe you and I could just study for i-"

"Hi guys!" Eugene announced, perkily. He, just like Rhonda, held a flyer in his hand. "I'm just letting you guys know about auditions for our school's production of _Hairgel_! It's this really awesome musical set in the-"

"That sounds simply wonderful," Helga said, dryly, snatching the flyer out of his hand. "I'll let you know if I can find any spare talent I want to waste on this monstrosity."

Eugene smile only grew wider, "Great! Helga, I think you'd be a great fit for—"

"Yeah, thanks Eugene, can you leave now?" Arnold interrupted, loudly. His friends turned to look at him, surprised at his outburst.

"Of course!" Eugene said, cheerily, "Thanks guys! Auditions are Tuesday!"

"Wow, Football Head," Helga said, as Eugene skipped away, "I'm impressed – I didn't think you had it in you to—"

"_I was just wondering if you wanted to come over and study on Friday just you and me_," Arnold said, speaking so fast the words almost blended together. "You know, because Phoebe and Gerald are busy. And we've got that math test on Monday."

Helga stared at him for a few seconds, then blinked. "Oh, um…sure, Arnold. That'd be…cool."

"And, um, maybe after," Arnold forced himself to keep going, feeling the strength of Gerald and Phoebe's wide stares upon him, "we could, um, go congratulate ourselves on our hard work studying by, uh, going to see a movie?"

Helga stared. Gerald and Phoebe stared. Arnold gulped.

"And, um…maybe, get some milkshakes at Slawson's after?" His voice sounded so tiny to him, like the words were just squeaking out. It wasn't helping that all Helga was doing was staring and not responding…

"Hi guys!" Nadine said, suddenly appearing at their table. "I was just collecting sign-ups for the field trip to the Museum of Entomol—"

"Now's really not a great time, Nadine," Phoebe squeaked.

Nadine looked from Phoebe to Gerald, from Gerald to Arnold, and then finally to Helga. "Okay…" She said, shrugging. "If you want to sign-up, I'll leave the list on the bulletin board in front of-"

"Bye Nadine!" Gerald shouted.

Nadine frowned and walked off. For a second, Arnold wished she had stayed, as the silence was unbearable. Helga hadn't spoken since he asked her about the movies; she remained frozen, her mouth slightly open, her head tilted to the side in confusion. He hated that she could look adorable even when looking at him in shock and quite possibly, he thought, disgust.

"I, um—" He started to speak, unsure of what he was going to say, but just wanting to say something to break the silence. He might have taken it back, but finally, Helga spoke.

"Uh, sure, Arnold," Helga said, in a light, airy voice he had rarely heard her use. "We could do that…I guess."

"Oh," Arnold said. "Oh. Um. …cool."

Beside him, Gerald smacked his palm to his forehead, but Arnold and Helga were oblivious. Helga eventually shook her head a little to each side, as if clearing her thoughts, frowned and returned to her sandwich, eating tiny bites that Arnold couldn't imagine were very filling. He picked up his fork and twirled a bit of the cold, sticky noodles the lunch ladies were trying to pass off as spaghetti, nervously avoiding anyone's gaze. The four of them ate in silence this way for a few minutes before…

"Helga," Phoebe broke the silence, speaking as calmly as possible, "I have to go to the ladies room. Would you like to join me?"

"Of course," Helga replied, struggling to sound as calm as Phoebe, "Of course I'll go, because that's what we girls do. We go to the bathroom together. Can't possibly have one of us go by ourselves. We might, um, fall in. Excuse us, fellas."

The two girls stood up and pushed their chairs in, then walked off towards the restrooms. As they approached the door, Helga slid her arm around Phoebe's, suddenly afraid that if she weren't holding onto something, she would fall to floor. She felt dizzy, as if all the blood in her head had flowed downwards and was now flooding her cheeks, which felt as though they were on fire.

As the girls slipped inside the bathroom, Arnold let out a sigh of relief. He dropped his head to the table, burying it in his arms.

"That," Gerald stated, scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes, "Was painful."

"You're telling me," Arnold mumbled, "Man, I just humiliated myself."

"Nah, man, whatever!" Gerald said, slapping him on the back. "You did it, she said yes, and now you've got yourself a bona fide date with Miss Helga G. Pataki. It's what you've always dreamed of."

"A date…I asked her on a date!" A dreamy smile crossed Arnold's face, and Gerald sighed and shook his head. He may be a bold kid, but that didn't make his buddy any less of a mess when it came to girls.

**xXxXx**

Once inside, Helga darted across the bathroom, checking underneath all the stalls – her typical pre-rant preparations. Once she was satisfied they were alone in the bathroom, she whirled around to face Phoebe. "WHAT was THAT?" She exclaimed, throwing herself dramatically against the sinks.

"Probably the most uncomfortable thing I've ever witnessed," Phoebe said, eyeing the bathroom door.

"You're telling me!" Helga said, "Why was he so awkward about that?"

Phoebe shrugged. "He must have been really nervous about asking you on a date."

"A date?" Helga choked on the word. "That wasn't a _date_, Phoebe! Clearly he just wanted to hang out…you know, as friends."

Phoebe stared at her best friend – she couldn't believe the girl could be this dense. "Um, Helga…if he had meant it to be just as friends, why would he have gotten so nervous?"

"Well, there's no way he would have asked me on a date, so the only alternative is that he meant that we would be studying and doing all that stuff just as—"

She stopped speaking as the bathroom door swung open, and a tall brunette stepped in, eyes flashing with mischief.

"Well, Helga G. Pataki," Rhonda cooed as the bathroom door shut behind her, "A little birdie just told me the most _interesting_ news."

"Get out of here, Princess," Helga snapped, "No one's interested in you and your Queen Bee gossip."

"It's a free country, _Hel_-ga," Rhonda sang, holding the first syllable of Helga's name a little longer than Helga preferred, "I can use this bathroom if I want to. Last time I checked, I had all the right parts." She looked Helga up and down, taking in her ratty jeans and plain grey sweatshirt. "Can't say the same for you," She murmured under her breath.

Helga's face flushed bright red at the underhanded comment. "Listen Rhonda, if you don't get your scrawny little butt out of here in the next five seconds, Daddy Dearest is going to have to pay for _another_ one of your nose jobs. And if your tiny little pea brain isn't smart enough to figure out what that means, it means I'm going to smash your face in."

Rhonda, who had been examining her make-up in the mirror, rolled her eyes at Helga's threat. She turned from the mirror and leaned up against the sink, a smirk upon her face. "Why, Helga, I was just coming in here to inform you of a tiny bit of gossip I heard about you. And to get confirmation, of course. We wouldn't want any false rumors flying around, would we?"

Helga glanced over at Phoebe, who seemed to have shrunk into the corner with Rhonda's arrival. Her eyes had widened at the mention of gossip about Helga, but otherwise she remained silent. "What…what are you talking about, Rhonda?" Helga stuttered.

Rhonda stood up straight, and straightening her skirt as she did. "Is it or is not true that Arnold Shortman asked you to do homework at his house later this Friday night?"

"Well, er…" Helga started, surprised, "Uh…what's it if he did?"

"And is it or is it not true that he also asked you to join him at a movie afterwards?"

"Now, hey, wait a minute! Why…why would you think that?"

"And to get ice cream at Slawsen's after that?"

"What? No!" Helga yelped, "Wh-why would he say that? Why would _I _do those things with that Football Head?"

"So you deny these rumors?" Rhonda said, an innocent pout on her lips.

"Of course I do!" Helga shouted, "H-how do you even come up with these things?"

Rhonda smiled as she turned back to the mirror and began flattening her hair with her hands. "I have my sources – little eyes and ears everywhere."

Helga frowned. "Spies?"

Rhonda laughed, a sweet tinkling noise that made Helga feel sick in her stomach. "Oh, Helga, don't be so dramatic. _Spies_ – really! As if middle school gossip were some sort of international conspiracy." She was still laughing as she reached the bathroom door, where she turned and flashed a perfect white smile at Helga. "Oh, and did I mention? I think I might take a trip to the movies and Slawsen's Friday night too. Maybe I'll see you there?"

She was out the door before Helga could retort; it swung shut just as Helga's mouth dropped open. Phoebe was instantly at her side. "How did she _know_? How did she know so fast?"

Helga shook her head. "I really wouldn't be surprised if she _did_ have spies around the school – I bet it was Brainy; that kid can really sneak up on you."

Suddenly, Phoebe's eyes widened as she came to a realization. She gripped Helga's wrist tightly and stared up at her. "Helga…it was Nadine! Nadine came in just as Arnold had asked you, remember? She must have said something to Rhonda!"

Helga growled. "I'll kill that little bug-loving creep. How dare she start baseless rumors and go spreading them to _Rhonda_ of all people!"

"Well," Phoebe pointed out, timidly, "They weren't exactly rumors, Helga. You _are_ doing those things with Arnold on Friday."

"But…but…" Helga stuttered, "The way she made it sound…she made it sound like it was a date!"

"That's because it _was_ a date," Phoebe said, a small hopeful smile on her face.

Helga stared at her, at a loss for words. Luckily, she didn't have to find any, as the bell rang shrilly from the hallway, signaling the end of the lunch period. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, then sighed and grabbed Phoebe by the hand. "Come on, Pheebs…let's just head to class…I'll just have to figure this out before Friday."

But as they left the girl's bathroom, a dreamy smile crossed her face (one she was sure to wipe off her face before they made it completely out into lunch room). _A date! He asked me on a date!_ _Oh, Arnold…_


	4. Pep

**AN: **Had a terrible dream last night that some of you readers were so upset I hadn't updated, that you went and reviewed all the older fanfiction I had written when I was 10. It was terribly embarrassing, so this morning I woke up and finished this chapter. I'm sorry!

**Strange As It Seems:  
>Pep<strong>

"I don't think the giant chart is necessary, Gerald," Arnold objected. The two friends were in Arnold's room; Arnold sat on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, while Gerald paced back and forth in front of him. An easel was propped up next to Gerald, a large oversized notepad – one that might have seemed at place in an executive business meeting or in a first grade classroom – sat upon it.

"A chart is _very_ necessary, my good man," Gerald said, coming to a rest in front of the easel. He placed his hand to his chin, thinking. "You're a mess around Helga, and if you want this date to go smoothly, you need all the help you can get."

"And you're going to give it to me in giant chart form?" Arnold sighed.

"Yep! I think we might start with a giant list though." He scratched his chin, then drew a black marker from his pocket. On one side of the paper he wrote _'Things to do around Helga Pataki'_; he drew a line separating the page in two and then wrote '_Things NOT to do around Helga Pataki_'.

"This is ridiculous," Arnold said, matter-of-factly. "I hope you know that."

"And I hope you know that this is going to save your life!" Gerald said, capping the marker and turning to face him. "Giant lists are a form of visual learning; you'll remember it better this way!"

"But I don't _need_ this!" Arnold insisted.

"Arnold," Gerald said, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "What was the last thing you said to Helga?"

Arnold frowned and stared at the ground in thought. _Well, I asked her out at lunch the other day…and then I…er…well…_ He looked up at Gerald, a weak smile on his face. "I er…I kind of, um, stuttered at her in class yesterday? When I was asking to look at her notes."

"You stuttered at her in class yesterday," Gerald repeated, nodding his head, his eyes still closed. "Arnold – you haven't SPOKEN to the girl since you asked her out. You've been a mumbling, bumbling, stuttering MESS. And let me tell you, man – that is not going to be attractive on tomorrow's date. Not at all."

Arnold frowned. "Well, what do you suggest?"

Gerald opened his eyes and grinned at his best friend. "My suggestion is that you've got to play it _cool_, man."

"I'm cool!" Arnold said, defensively.

"But you sure haven't been acting like it lately, especially when you get around Helga G. Pataki," Gerald replied. He turned to face the notepad, marker in hand, and wrote _BE COOL_ in capital letters beneath the '_Things to do_' heading.

"'Be Cool'," Arnold read. He rolled his eyes. "Thanks Gerald, very helpful."

"Okay, okay, fine. Here's something a little more helpful," Gerald said, scribbling on the pad. As he turned around, Arnold saw that it read _BE YOURSELF._

"Be myself?" Arnold said, "But myself is a nervous stuttering wreck, I thought we already went over that? I thought that was the point of this list?"

Gerald shook his head, "No, not THAT yourself. Be the yourself that you are around everyone else." Arnold stared at him, blankly. "Look, the key to a successful first date – and trust me, I know, I've had _one_ and it was _very_ successful, as I'm still dating the lovely lady to this day – is to be their best friend for a day. Be friendly, funny, caring, compassionate: do all you can to make sure they are having the best day of their life. And you, my man, have that down pat. You're the most friendly, funny, caring, compassionate kid in the whole school. You're concerned with making everyone happy. Sometimes, I feel like maybe you have a crush on me, what with how _nice _you are."

"Wait, what?" Arnold interrupted.

"Never mind. The point is, if you act like the friendly gentlemen that you are naturally, you'll be set!"

"But what if she gets the wrong idea?" Arnold asked, worriedly, "What if she thinks I just want to be friends?"

"Just throw in a little physical interaction – accidentally touch her hand, or touch her arm when you laugh. She'll get the hint. A few '_you look nice tonight_'s might not be a bad idea either. Plus there's the second key."

"The second key?"

"The second key to a successful date is to have some sort of interaction that is unique to you too. You need to find the certain dynamic that exists between you two and embrace it. And lucky for you, you've known Helga so long that you already know the dynamic between you!"

"I do?" Arnold asked, skeptically.

Gerald nodded. "The majority of yours and Helga's relationship has been built around teasing. First outright bullying, but over time it has evolved into a light friendly teasing that seems to go both ways. You and Helga are at your best when you have this sort of witty banter going on between you. If you get that going on, she'll realize that you're not just hanging out with her as a friend, but as someone who you have this personalized experience with, you get what I'm saying?"

"Sort of," Arnold said, as Gerald wrote _DYNAMIC_ under _BE YOURSELF. _ "This list is getting a little bit one-sided: where's all the stuff I'm not supposed to be doing?"

Gerald sighed. "Arnold, you're a pretty smart guy. There's a lot of stuff you shouldn't do on a first date, but I think you're smart enough to figure that out on your own. I think you know better than to stare at other girls or to try to cop a feel" (Arnold blushed) "or anything like that. But there is one thing I'm not too sure about – one thing you may just be stupid enough to do. And that is the only thing I'm going to write on this side of this list."

"What's that?" Arnold asked.

Gerald turned and wrote in huge capital letters that he underlined three times _DO NOT TELL HER YOU LOVE HER_.

Arnold stared at it for a second, a dark red blush creeping across his face. He shook his head and said, "You realize you wrote that under the '_Things NOT to do_' section, right? So that makes it a double negative: Do not do not tell her…"

"You know what I'm saying!" Gerald snapped, tapping Arnold lightly on the head with the marker.

Arnold laughed, "You really think I'm likely to say something like that to her? I mean…"

'Yes," Gerald interrupted, "Yes, I do. And look, I don't care if that's actually how you feel, the point is, if you say something like that to her you're going to freak her out and scare her away. You MAY say something sweet like '_Oh, gee, Helga, I like you ever so much_'…"

"You sound like Lila," Arnold pointed out.

"Or something along those lines. But do not, and I repeat, DO NOT, tell her you love her. You got it?"

"Yes, sir." Arnold said, nodding his head.

Gerald sighed in relief. "Okay. Okay." He sat down next to Arnold on the bed, and patted him on the back. "Then Arnold, my man – I think you're going to be okay."

Arnold sighed too. "I just hope your advice is enough to shut the butterflies up for once." He stared at the list for a few seconds then asked, almost timidly, "Hey Gerald?"

"Mmhmm?"

"…do you still get butterflies when you're around Phoebe?"

Gerald paused for a second before answering, then a slightly dreamy smile crossed his face. "Yeah, but you know what? They aren't as scary and nerve-wracking as they were before…they're kind of…nice."

Arnold sighed again. "Well, at least there's that to look forward to."

**xXxXx**

Helga threw open her closet door and instantly began rummaging through the clothes there, looking for something to wear. There was no longer the mortifying shrine in the back of the closet – she sometimes cringed at the memory of it: God, how _embarrassing_ – but now she desperately needed to find an outfit that would impress that Football Headed Love God.

"Oh GOD, Phoebe, what am I doing?" She moaned, pulling out a pair of jeans that weren't _too_ ratty. "I don't know the first thing about dates! Especially not one with ARNOLD."

"Maybe we shoul—" Phoebe started, raising her hand to grab Helga's shoulder.

"What are we going to talk about? What are we going to do? What am I going to _wear?_" Helga despaired, rummaging through her t-shirts, throwing rejected tank tops over her shoulder in a quickly growing pile.

"I think that maybe—" Phoebe began again.

"He's going to realize how lame I am!" Helga cried, grasping a tank top to her chest. "He's going to think I'm boring and uninteresting, and least of all pretty! And he's going to walk out of that movie theater completely disappointed and he's never going to speak to me ever again!"

"Now Helga, I don't think—"

"What was I THINKING? Oh, Phoebe, I don't think I could take it if we weren't even friends anymore. I should have just been content to be allowed to be around him – if I screw this up, I won't even be allowed that! I'll be nothing! I'll have to awkwardly avoid him in the halls at school, won't be able to sit next to him in class, it'd be too much—"

"HELGA!" Phoebe shouted, grabbing her friend by the arms and shaking her. "You need to calm down!"

Helga stopped speaking and stared at her best friend, eyes wide. Suddenly she sighed and said, "Thanks, Pheebs, I need that."

"Now listen, Helga, I think we need to go over a few things before you psych yourself out too much about this date tomorrow, okay?" Phoebe said, guiding her best friend to the bed and sitting her down. "Maybe lay out a few ground rules so that you won't be so nervous, okay?"

Helga nodded. "Yeah, okay, Pheebs, that sounds great. You always know best."

Phoebe smiled at her. "Everything's going to be alright, Helga. I promise."

Helga gave her a weak grin. "Okay, Pheebs, what do you suggest?"

Phoebe took a deep breath and began. "Okay. I originally compiled a list of basic do's and don't's for the evening. But then I realized it basically boiled down to just two major don't's."

Helga raised her eyebrow. "Which are?"

"DON'T bully Arnold!" Phoebe said, sternly.

"Well, doi, Pheebs, obviously I wouldn't do—"

"You say that now," Phoebe interrupted, "But I know you. Whenever you get too close to Arnold and you accidentally give off even a hint that you like him, you get defensive the second you realize it and go immediately into name-calling, spit-ball-throwing, Bully Helga mode. And I won't let you do that. Not at this point in the game. The cat's out of the bag, Helga. You're going on a date with him, so it's a little obvious that you at least like him a little. And you're allowed to show it."

"So you're saying I can't call him 'Football Head' or tease him or…?"

"Well, here's the thing," Phoebe continued, "We've come to the conclusion…"

"We?" Helga asked.

Phoebe blushed, and quickly corrected herself. "_I've _come to the conclusion that you and Arnold have an interesting dynamic, where you two work best together when there's this mutual light teasing going on, a sort of quick-witted banter. So a little bit of _that_ would be okay, and as for 'Football Head', I believe that has reached the point of endearing nickname."

"So wait, do I tease him or do I act like I like him?" Helga asked, confused.

"Both," Phoebe said, "Though honestly, Helga, with you the two kind of mean the same thing. Just try to be a little nicer, okay?"

"Alright," Helga said, wearily, "I'll try. What's number two?"

"Well, number two may seem a bit contradictory following what I just said…"

"Spit it out, Pheebs."

"DON'T, under any circumstances, tell Arnold that you love him."

Helga blinked. "Phoebe, I…"

"You think that you won't, but you said it before to him under pressure, and I'm worried that if the pressure gets to you this time you'll blurt it out again, and you know what happened last time! It really freaked him out, so I think…"

"Phoebe," Helga interrupted, holding up one hand, "Trust me. I learned my lesson. I don't think I'll ever have the courage to say those words to Arnold Shortman ever again."

"Good," Phoebe said, absently. "Now, what do you think of this hoodie…?"

Phoebe dug through the massive pile of clothes Helga had thrown out of her closet, while Helga sat on the bed, looking down at the ground, a small frown forming across her lips. She had a feeling this date was going to be a huge, horrible disaster.


End file.
